War
by TStabler
Summary: What begins as a quiet night between friends and lovers turns into an all out war. A battle of wits, wills, and emotions. Who will win? Who will surrender? Do they fight fair? Well, as they say, all's fair in love...and war. One word one-shot. E/O


**A/N: One Word- One Shot . Word requested by an anonymous reviewer, so whoever you are, here you go.**

**DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf own SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.**

Olivia looks at him with one eyebrow raised as she holds her cards in her hands. She silently flips over the top card, and she cringes. "Shit," she spits out.

He laughs, though. "A two?" he mocks. "That the best you got, Benson?" He flips over the top card from his own pile. His face falls.

"Oh-ho, you couldn't do any better, apparently," she chuckles, placing three cards down, their backs up, on the table. She readies her next card between her thumb and forefinger, and though it's childish, she prays it's an Ace.

"One, two, three," he counts, his knee shaking. He flips over his top card, as does she, and he bangs a fist on the table. "Damn it, Liv, what, did you have all four of those fuckers?"

She laughs and scoops the splayed out cards into her hands, turning them all over and making them fall neatly into her existing pile. "No one likes a sore loser, El," she teases.

He rolls his eyes. "Why are we even playing this stupid game?"

She squints. "Because you were bored and..."

"War?" he interrupts. "It's so childish. We're two grown people, we should be playing...I dunno...strip poker."

She scoffs. "You want to see me naked, El, you'd better think of something other than poker. I can wipe the floor with you with one hand tied behind my back."

He reaches for his beer with a smirk. "Oh, I have plenty ways to get you naked, baby," he says. As he lifts his bottle, he finds it empty. He twists his smile and looks at her amber bottle. He reaches across the table for it, and he misjudges.

She gasps and shoots out of her seat. "Cold!" she yells, flailing and shaking out her shirt. "Very fucking cold."

He laughs, getting up to help her. "I am so sorry," he says, though he doesn't mean it. "Liv, you, uh, you need to take this off." He pulls on the hem of her top and he says, "Let me wash it for you."

"And I'm supposed to sit out here in my bra? Which, by the way, is also soaked." She sees the gleam in his eyes. She understands. "You son of a bitch," she hisses as her eyes narrow and her lips curl.

He winks at her. "Told ya," he says, walking backward, twirling her ruined shirt over his head in a sad sort of victory dance toward the laundry room.

"El," she says, stepping toward him.

He stops. "Yeah?"

"I think you know," she says, picking up the bottle and swirling around what little alcohol is left in it, "This means war."

He starts to laugh, but the cold beer trickling down his leg stops him. "You did not just..."

"What if I did?" she asks, dropping the empty bottle onto the table.

He looks down. The round, wet spot on the front of his jeans is growing. He looks up and says, "If it's war you want, Benson, it's war you're gonna get." He looks down at his wet jeans again and shakes his head as he wanders into the laundry room.

She sighs and folds her arms, deciding if she is more angry or amused. In his absence, she tosses the empty beer bottles into his recycling bin in the kitchen, then grabs two fresh, full bottles from the fridge. She cracks hers open, and as the cap hits the floor, she freezes. Her breath is gone, her heart has stopped. She has died and gone to Heaven. Or, judging by the look in his eyes, Hell.

He's just come back from the laundry room, clad only in his boxers, a vile look on his face. He walks toward her looking like a proud and hungry lion. He rips the bottle from her hands, slams it down on the counter, and backs her into the kitchen wall. "You..."

"What," she challenges, folding her arms. "What are you gonna do, Elliot?"

"Don't," he warns, skimming his hands down her arms. "Don't move, don't even blink." He reaches the waistband of her jeans and pulls hard. "Get these off," he demands. "Now."

She twists to her left, grabs his arm, and suddenly their positions are reversed. She's pinning him now, and she's the one in charge. "Bite me," she says.

Normally he would take that as a "fuck off," but he knows her. He knows her too well, and at this moment, she means it. She wants him to bite her. He chuckles and bends his head, but before he touches her neck with his lips and teeth, he whispers into her ear. "Take...off...your...fucking...pants," he says, slowly and deliberately, licking around the rim of her ear between each word.

She undoes the button and moans as his teeth sink into the flesh of her neck. "Oh, God," she mutters, shimmying the jeans down and kicking them away. She pushes him away from her and he hits the wall with a thud. She isn't sorry at all. "Bastard," she hisses.

He turns the tables once again, lifting her a solid inch off of the floor, turning her around, and throwing her into the wall. "Am I, now?" he asks, a hint of menace in his voice. He has her bra off in mere seconds, and he laughs when she yells at him for it. "Feisty tonight, aren't you?" he jokes, palming one of her now bare breasts and squeezing hard.

She yanks on his boxers and he grabs her wrists. For a moment she flinches, but, after all, this is a battle, and one she plans to win. She fights through his grip and pushes the cotton over his hips. "Yeah," she snaps, answering his question. "Let go of me."

"Not a chance," he returns, lifting his hands, her wrists still tightly grasped in them, and raises her arms above her head. He sees her roll her eyes, he sees her weakening. "I am never letting you go," he whispers softly before biting her bottom lip hard and kissing her roughly.

Her bottom half struggles, he isn't playing fair and she is gonna make him work for this to punish him. She pulls her lips away from his and breathes in fast and hard.

"Stop struggling," he laughs, trying to get his lips over hers again. He keeps both of her wrists tightly locked in one hand as the other skims down her body and slides her panties down. "You know you want this, Liv," he coaxes, slipping his knee between her legs.

She smiles. "I do," she says, "But you've gotta fight for it." She raises an eyebrow. "How badly do you want me? How hard are you gonna..."

His lips cover hers in time to catch the growling cry ripped unexpectedly form her throat. He's pried open her legs and thrust into her, fast and hard, and now he's waiting for her body to catch up.

"Fuck," she spits once his lips leave hers. "Warn me next time, asshole," she says, though she loves it. Their game of cat and dog, fighting for control. dominance. Neither giving in, but neither succeeding.

"You knew it was coming," he says, pulling his thick length completely out of her before slamming back in. "You were ready," he teases, alluding to her wetness.

She smiles, then, knowing this round goes to him, but knowing that she still holds all the cards. She shifts just a nit, backward. Her muscles tighten and he moans, a sound she loves but one he doesn't make often.

He says her name, his voice sounds choked and strangled, and his eyes squeeze shit. "I fucking love when you..."

"I know you do," she tells him softly as she clenches her inner muscles again, her secret weapon, capable of bringing him to his knees. She smirks when he visibly relaxes and sinks forward, pressing harder and deeper into her. He surrenders and she rewards him by giving him another squeeze.

"You'll pay for that," he whispers, his lips running soft and gentle over her neck, soothing the purple bruise from his earlier bite.

"Yeah, I know," she groans, feeling his teeth skim the still tender skin. She moans. He knows her weaknesses, too, and she just got the upper hand. She wasn't giving it up just yet.

He curses under his breath, thrusting hard as she tightens her body. He wraps her arms around her and picks her up higher, and she locks her ankles behind him. "Oh, good girl," he commends.

This is routine, she knows the drill and she follows his lead. She closes her fists and feels his skin snap beneath her nails. When he gives a shaky groan and a hard thrust, she chuckles. "Good boy," she says, moaning on a particularly incredible thrust. "So...so fucking good."

He lets a moan rumble in his chest for a moment, glaring at her, and then he speeds up, pounding into her hard. "Yeah," he moans, his left hand still holding her wrists over her head. He smirks, as it's giving him a clear view of her breasts as they shake with her body.

"Oh, God," she yelps when he drops his head and sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. "Fuck, yes."

"Cum," he demands, slowing down a bit as he feels her body, and his own, starting to shake. He is not a young man anymore, and holding her up against the wall is not as easy as it used to be.

"Make me," she hisses, not dropping her defensive act for a single moment.

He smirks and moans and then he says, "I'm going to." He swivels his hips while he's deep inside of her, and his right hand moves to circle her clit. "Cum," he orders her again. "Baby, let go."

She presses her lips together, she shakes her head. This is war, and he needs to go down first. She feels herself slipping, losing resolve, and she doesn't know how much fight she has left in her.

He rolls his eyes when she tightens around him, it feels so damned good. He trembles a bit, his knees almost buckle, and with three more hard, deep, slow rocks of hips, he loses the battle. He submits to her, shooting hotly into the wet heat surrounding him. "Holy shit," he says with a clenched jaw.

She feels his body shake, and she can feel him throbbing inside of her. This is a serious intense release, one of his most powerful, and knowing that, feeling that, triggers her own powerful climax. She squeezes his wrist harder, she's certain that his blood is trickling down her arm, just as his cum is trickling down her leg, and neither bothers her.

He relaxes only slightly, and falls against her. He lets go of her wrists, slowly letting her hands fall to his shoulders. "Oh, my God," he whispers.

She shudders, an aftershock rolls through her. She clamps again and he curses, and then she goes limp.

He slowly drops her to the floor, then slides further down with her in his arms. Naked, sweaty, sated, they lie on the cold kitchen tile of an apartment only half-unpacked. "Fucking hell," he pants.

"Next time, think about what you're doing before you declare war," she teases, her body on top of his, sticking to him.

He kisses her, softly, slowly. "I knew exactly what I was doing," he whispers. "If I have to lose, there is no one in the world I would rather lose to than you."

She finds his left hand, the one that had so strongly dominated her, and she links his fingers with hers. Their rings slink and she smiles, a small tug on her heart warms her body. "You could have won, ya know," she says.

"I know," he admits, knowing he is stronger, knowing he could have held out, fought harder. He kisses her again and his eyes close, and he wonders if any other man on the planet loves to fight with his wife as much as he does. "I won last time, and I just...I thought it should be fair."

"All's fair," she says, kissing him and shifting, feeling him still inside of her, "In love and war."

**A/N: That's what I thought of for the word 'War.' Reviews?**


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